On a Sunday Just Like This
by Arsenic Kisses
Summary: "Erik watched her go with deep longing...He felt melancholy, yet he knew they'd meet again, on a Sunday not too far off."


A/N: Been a long time, hasn't it. Rrrr, bad me. Anyway, but a little one shot for you.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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The paper had a headline that read, "Diva's Farewell Performance Leaves Audience Yearning'. The man holding the paper had read that article so often that day, he had committed it to memory and could openly recite it to any who asked, if anyone had bothered to. Fortunately for this man, he was left quite alone during most of the afternoon and he was quite pleased about it. He turned the page, skimming the ads for tonics and lawyers. These were always quite amusing to him, for the tonics almost seemed more reliable than the lawyers. He smirked at one in particular before looking up.

There she was.

He lowered his paper slightly, watching her stride across the park. She looked quite regal in her stride, the years never marring her face. Indeed, she grew more beautiful and confident with age than he could have imagined. She twirled her parasol as she walked, looking down every now and then. She was in no hurry, none at all. He lowered the paper farther, eyes blatantly affixed to her figure, her serene face.

God, how he wanted her. How he adored everything about her. How he could just hear her voice in his head, feel it warm him from the inside out. Those feelings made him slouch, sliding down in his seat with the feeling. She was unaware of him though as she took her turn around the path. This was her third circuit and in all of them, she had never looked at him. Not once. Perhaps he was unrecognizable hidden behind the weekly headline. The headline she had read herself, in her dressing room the day before, as she packed up her things. As she used the front page to wrap up a carafe he had given her. A carafe that once belonged to his mother. How she had always handled it with care, and filled it with her favorite perfume. The one that he could smell in her hair no matter if she had used it or not.

She didn't notice him.

He sat up straighter, shaking out his paper, and settling behind it again. He wouldn't let himself get overly sentimental. Not today. He had learned to live without her, he could damn well read his paper if he liked without her lovely presence bewitching him betwixt paragraphs. No, no, she could do as she liked and he could be the old curmudgeon he was and read his print.

"Hello, Stranger." As he looked up, a breeze tossed the free tendrils of her hair towards him, and that scent filled his lungs. Then that feeling took over and all of his control melted away.

"Christine…"

"As if you thought I was unaware you were here." He smiled at her cheekiness. She has gotten quite saucy as she became older. He liked that about her. She settled down next to him.

"You are not quite so sneaky outside of the opera, Monsieur."

"I suppose not."

"Were you at my performance last night?"

"Of course, Christine. I could not miss it. Death himself could not keep me from that." She blushed openly at his deep adoration. She looked at his masked face, tempted to touch his cheek or tip back his hat so she could really see his eyes during daylight hours. In natural light, Erik looked quite the upstanding gentleman, ever if he was still too thin for his own good. She smiled at him lovingly and he felt his heart tighten. Then they sat for a while, side by side, watching the park.

"I still love you." He said, placing his hand palm up on the bench between them.

"And I you" she cooed, her hand coming to rest inside of his. Their fingers laced, holding desperately.

"How is your son?"

"_Our_ son is fine, Erik. It is perfectly acceptable to refer to him by his name." Erik was silent for a moment, thinking about him. His son was a perfect child. Looked just like his mother. It was a crime that he couldn't be there to father him. Even though she had offered to marry him, Erik in good conscience, could not let her live with him. Nor could he allow his son to witness the monster he could be. He knew that his occasional fits were enough to last anyone a lifetime. He was surprised Christine wasn't filled to the brim with his moods by now. Still, Erik to solace in life's little graces. If anything, Raoul was the perfect stand-in, despite Erik's vehement resistance against accepting this thought.

"He is just like you, our Freddy. I don't think Raoul could father you out of him if he tried." Erik laughed, tears in the corners of his eyes. Christine moved to wipe them away, and he nearly stopped her. But, the look in her eye made him sit like a docile puppy as she went about her work.

"He wants to meet you, Erik. He knows the truth and he wants to meet you. I didn't tell him. He had as good as guessed before I 'fessed up."

"I don't think-"

"I know, my love. In good time, in good time." Christine held his hand for a good long while after that. When she did get up to leave, the early evening had come and Erik decided that he would escort her to the nearest carriage.

"Tell him-" he paused, unsure of himself, " Tell him that his father loves him."

Christine planted the gentlest kiss upon his lips, "Erik, my love, he already knows. You make sure to tell him one day. Face to face."

" Are you sure that idea is entirely sound?" he laughed wryly, feeling his old age like an oppressor. She sat down in the carriage, still smiling at him. Was there nothing her smile could not tell about her, about himself in her eyes. Anything she could want to say was there, right on her face.

Erik took her extended hand and planted a kiss on it before closing the carriage door. And as the gas lamps were being lit for the night, Erik watched her go with deep longing. He drew his cloak closer around him, facing the descending chill. He felt melancholy, yet he knew they'd meet again, on a Sunday not too far off.

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Thank you for Reading!

Sincerely,

Arsenic


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